


Like an open book

by Itsamess



Category: You Series - Caroline Kepnes
Genre: Bookish nerds in love, F/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:45:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17431487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsamess/pseuds/Itsamess
Summary: "Oh Joe" you moan, breaking our kiss "Fuck me now...Fuck me as if I were a book" you pant and oh Beck, you are lucky I love you, otherwise I would hate you so much.Fuck me as I were a book, really?I wonder if this some kind of obscure reference to 50 shades of nonsense, but I hope it's not cause really, you are so much better than that.But your hands are all over me and I think alright, fuck it. If you want to goAtonementon me, I am totally in. I am a bookstore owner and you're a wannabe writer, so if that is your kind of kink, is my duty as your boyfriend to play along.





	Like an open book

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, but apparently my hobbies include writing smut in foreign tongues and I wanted to get into Joe's head, so please excuse my dumb Italian speaker's mistakes.

Asking you to come work with me at the book shop has been a great for our relationship. We have never been so close, literally and figuratively. Also, you working here is a win-win situation, cause you needed something to do during your day and I can always use a hand in these months, because Valentine's day is coming and everyone is trying to fix their messed up relationships with Nicholas Sparks books and boxes of chocolate. 

I have officially offered you to work as cashier and you are great at that. I've noticed that the number of male clients has substantially increased since you have been helping behind the counter, which is good for the book shop, but is bad for me, because I keep getting distracted: I _need_ to make sure none of them tries to take advantage of you.  
And believe me, they try.  
You are lucky I keep an eye on you. These jerks must have mistaken this shop as a place to pick up chicks. Pathetic.

But you don't seem to care. You are too good to think badly of anyone. You are nice and helpful to every client, even the guy that twice a week walks four blocks just to buy here a fucking John Grisham. I doubt he even opens those books. He comes here just for you, and I can't even blame him, because these skinny jeans of yours are almost an invitation.

Today he hasn't showed up, but on the other hand there was a girl coming here with a list of books for her English class that dared to ask for the _shortened versions_.

"How could someone ask for a shortened version of _Anna Karenina_?" I sight as I close the door behind her, happy to see her leaving my book shop forever. "If that's your assigned reading, just read it, for God's sake."

"Come on, Joe..." you try to appease me. "She was just a girl."  
I love this side of you, so maternal and protective.  
That _Anna Karenina_ girl doesn't deserve it.

"And I am just a concerned citizen. Where will it end? At this rate, people will start reading shortened versions of the shortened version of books, everyone will speak like Jack London's _Martin Eden_ and in 50 years Drake will be president."

"I highly doubt Drake will still be around in 50 years" you say "But I get your point."

I know you do. We are so alike. We may have had different life experiences, but we share the same values and the same literary tastes, and that's an excellent basis for a romantic relationship.  
You know, Beck... I wish there were more people like you and me. People who respect books and what's inside them. People who know they are so much more than dead trees.

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn't notice you getting nearer to me and the door. You lean forward and silently flip the door sign to WE'RE CLOSED.

"Are we closing?" I ask you, stating the obvious

"I am afraid there's an emergency"

I play along.  
"Which is your emergency, young lady?"

You don't answer, and silently head to the _Sex and Relationship_ section. I get the message: you wanna fuck. It's not like it's the first time. We have done it in every corner of the bookshop. It may not be hygienic, but sure as hell I am not going to hold back.  
I follow you through the shelves.

You give me that look of yours that promises trouble and lower your voice saying: "You are so sexy when you talk about books. It really turns me on" and than you directly ask: "Take me, Joe. Take me now"

"Here?"

"I'm afraid I cannot wait"

"Always so eager." I say, kissing you and gosh, our lips were meant to be locked together. I am already getting hard and we still haven't taken our clothes off. Pretty sure I can make you come anyway, though, because I caress your right nipple just to find it as hard as I am.

"Oh Joe" you moan, breaking our kiss "Fuck me now...Fuck me as if I were a book" you pant and oh Beck, you are lucky I love you, otherwise I would hate you so much.  
_Fuck me as I were a book,_ really?  
I wonder if this some kind of obscure reference to 50 shades of nonsense, but I hope it's not cause really, you are so much better than that. 

But your hands are all over me and I think alright, fuck it. If you want to go _Atonement_ on me, I am totally in. I am a bookstore owner and you're a wannabe writer, so if that is your kind of kink, is my duty as your boyfriend to play along. 

So I take a step back and watch you carefully.  
"Let me think... If you were a book..." I start teasing. ... "I guess the first thing I'd do would be taking off your dust jacket"  
You know I hate them, they get all ripped and ruined on the edges and they are honestly pointless.

You get my metaphor and you eagerly help me taking off your blue sweater. Of course you are not wearing a bra. Nasty girl.

"Now that's so much better." I say "No extra layers in the way. Just me and your hard, hard, _hard_ hardcover."  
I lean closer, letting you feel my erection against your tights. 

"All of this just for me, Joe?" you 

"You know me. Books turn me on. And you seem such a gorgeous ride, I meant- _read._ "  
I unbutton your jeans and unzip them. I can already smell the scent of your arousal. It's inebriating.  
"So I would go home, lay on my bed..." I say, caressing you over your panties. "And I would open you." You gasp and push against my hand, and I am pretty sure I just found your clit. "Then I would let myself wander through your pages. I would let my fingers slide through them."

"Please, Joe"

"And than I would start reading chapter one" I whisper, sliding my index inside you. You are so hot and tight already and your muscles clench around me as a welcome home. I bend my finger, moving it rhythmically.  
"Chapter one is nice. The plot sounds interesting, the writing style is quite refined. The characters are still quite underdeveloped, but I am patient guy. And you? Are you patient, Beck?"

"Stop... teasing..."

"I take it as a no. Let's just to chapter two, then"  
Without any warning, I slide two of my fingers inside you, and you moan so hard I am afraid someone outside will hear us. This thought should scare me, but it just turns me on more. I have to admit I was skeptical about this _Fuck me as I were a book thing,_ but you know what? I am starting to like it. I am fucking you against a shelf of books that scream tacky nonsense like _"Make her happy - the secrets to the female body"_ or _"Sexperties"_ but for once I am not thinking about books. I am thinking about you. You and your o-shaped mouth. You and your closed eyes. 

"Chapter three, four, five, six."  
Each word is a push inside you. And you are starting to make that lovely dirty sounds that I know usually lead you on the edge. I know them by heart like the lyrics to my old favorite songs, I could almost sing along. Because the thing, Beck, is that I don't have to pretend: to me you really _are_ an open book. 

I know all about you. I know about your past and your dreams and your lame group of friends. I know about your father. I know about that IKEA ladle. I know that you talk in your sleep (note to self: I should really stop watching you sleep and try to get some sleep myself). I know that you like to sing the _Pitch Perfect_ soundrack in the shower and I know that you still touch yourself when you think you are alone, but I am not jealous, cause when you come you always scream my name. And I know you are so close now to come again, so close, cause your voice is more like a strangled moan now. You're almost there, aren't you? Just one. More. Push. 

You gasp and come right on my fingers, shaking and trembling and clenching on me.  
Oh Beck. You are so pretty when you are helpless 

"Oh God. That was... amazing" you pant, buttoning your jeans. You glance at my groin "Want me to... Take care of it?"

"Nah, don't worry. It'll wear it off, eventually." I lie "Just go home and relax, I'll close the bookshop."

"You're the best boyfriend ever" you say, kissing my cheek "Thank you. Actually, I should go home and finish my paper. It's due tomorrow."

I know, your creative writing teacher emailed you a reminder two days ago and you haven't written a word.  
"Go, I'll close the shop" I say again

Once you are gone, I quickly jerk off - trying to remember your arched back and your needy moans - and then I go checking on my cage. Everything is alright, both temperature and humidity are under control. Well, almost everything: if I close my eyes, I can still see Benji's body here, ruining the cage _feng shui_. 

I am so glad you didn't have to see that mess, but a part of me can't help but wanting you to know all that I did to keep you safe. I don't regret killing Benji, or Peach. I had this _feeling_ in my guts, that you were in terrible danger. Are, in a terrible danger. But it's just a feeling, I think, turning off the lights in the cage. I am probably wrong. Because, you see, Beck - the thing, with open books, is that you can easily see how they end.


End file.
